Persistency
by lailamoonchild
Summary: In "Loyalty" Dean was shot by Gordon. In "Persistency" he's taken to the hospital with a splenic rupture, a mild concussion, broken ribs and a bullet wound. 2nd part of a trilogy called "3 Lessons". Set between "Born Under A Bad Sign" and "Tall Tales".
1. A

**Disclaimer**: Sadly, I don't own the show, the boys or the network. Don't hate, don't sue =)

**Another warning:** This story contains curse words and detailed violence. It includes discriminative/offensive comments that do not represent my opinion as an author.

**I'd like to thank my wonderful Betas:** Jennifer, general mastermind and guardian of commata & MagicianMana, personal cheerleader& giver of ticking-offs

About this part:

Wherever you see (A), take a look at the author's notes. Apparently footnotes don't work too well here, so I had to weasel my way around that. Dream sequences or memories will be in italics, indentations didn't seem to work.

I don't have the medical knowledge to describe the recovery process Dean goes through in a realistic way and the injuries he received may take longer to heal in real life. I also don't know whether the boys had chickenpox or not - that part's due to poetic license.

This part is set between _Born Under A Bad Sign_ (2.14) and _Tall Tales_ (2.15), I'm just stretching the time between the two episodes a little. I know it was probably less than a month, but bear with me.

This part contains references to: _Pilot_ (1.01), _Scarecrow_ (1.11), _Faith _(1.12), _Nightmare _(1.14), _Devil's Trap_ (1.22), _Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things_ (2.04), _Simon Said_ (2.05), _Croatoan_ (2.09),_ Hunted_ (2.10), _Playthings_ (2.11), _Houses Of The Holy _(2.13)

Some series facts you need to have in mind:

John has gone to hell and handed the Colt over to Azazel, they have met Gordon and found out what a batshit crazy guy he really is and Sam has discovered that not only is he able to move things with his mind and see people dying before they actually do, no, he's also some kind of supernatural freak immune to a demonic virus. Sam has rescued Dean when Gordon took his brother hostage and Sam has killed another hunter (Steve Wandel) while being possessed by Meg.

+#+

+#+

**PERSISTENCY**

Shipwreck the sun, I'm on your side  
An army of one, onward we'll ride  
And whisper your songs, birds to the air  
We'll bury all of our burdens there

*Audioslave – Heaven's Dead*

+#+

Seeing Dean in that hospital bed took all Sam had not to cry. He almost choked on the lump in his throat, but he knew he'd never live it down if Dean caught him crying over him. It just wouldn't do to go all maudlin on the guy, who'd tried to make Sam cut it out since he was four.

So Sam sucked it up and counted Dean's heartbeats instead, just to check if the machines were actually working. They were. Everything covered by Marty Kaukonen's(A1) insurance.

He never could stand Dean drumming his fingers on the arm of a chair or clicking his tongue while he waited as Sam did the research. It was as if Dean's waiting habits were designed to annoy the crap out of Sam, he was either pacing, bouncing his legs or clearing his throat as if there was a weasel stuck in there. Right now though, the damn silence was eating at Sam and he'd give anything to hear something other than the constant beeping indicating Dean's pulse rate.

Hell, of all the times to suddenly go dead to the world Dean had to pick one of the worst. Not that there actually was something like a good time to be shot and pass out, especially for a Winchester. But right now the demon was on their tracks or they were on his, considering on what end of the supernatural food chain you were, and apparently they had a very skilled hunter looking for Sam, wanting to put his head on a spike. Great.

Sam assumed that Gordon's little performance in the bar had a lot to do with how he was immune to some weirdo demon virus, how he could move cabinets with his mind, and how Dad had told Dean to kill him if things got out of hand. Gordon had tried to hunt him down twice now but Dean had been there to play human shield again. Unfortunately, with Dean's determination to get himself killed, they were quickly running out of supernatural back doors. This time there was no faith healer and no father who could sell his soul.

It hurt a little to think that Gordon mistook him for some demon's bitch.

Not that he really cared what Gordon thought about him – no, even Dean was cured of that - he'd just thought that with his family background nobody would assume him easy to corrupt.

He was trained to fight the supernatural and he had all reason to.

He was no renegade. The damn thing had killed Jess and Mom, and Dad had gone to hell for this. So Gordon should know better.

He kinda wished Dad was around. He hadn't realized how safe Dad's mere existence made him feel, even though he'd been more than three states away most of the time. Only when he'd seen John Winchester's impressive form burning on that pyre did he realize that there was no one between them and the demon now.

Under all the layers of defiance, justified suspicion and carefully built up distance, he'd always had unfaltering faith in the man. He hadn't liked Dad's decisions and his people skills left a lot to be desired, but when it came to hunting he'd always believed Dad could take down anything and that he'd always be there to save their asses when things went south.

He'd trusted his father with their lives, and now Dean put the same trust in him. Sam sighed again and rubbed the heels of his hands over his eyes.

John hadn't just been a hero to Dean. In his own stubborn, twisted, totally screwed-up Winchester way he'd been a hero to many other hunters. Hell, even Bobby admired him. And although Sam hadn't been able to see it when his father was still alive, he admired him, too. John had always stepped between his sons and evil, and that broad back was a reassuring sight.

Now, so many years after he rebelled against it, he realized why Dad hadn't gone back to normal after his mother's death. Sure, he wanted revenge, but he also needed to feel he did everything to protect his family. Strange, how protecting his kids in their family had meant making them spend their childhood in such a blur of cities, schools, and classes so that in the end the only thing they vaguely identified as "home" had four wheels and a sheet metal roof.

Sam sighed for the hundredth time in an hour and busied himself with fluffing Dean's comforter. His brother's shin hung out, Dean just took up too much space. Sam tried to make himself smaller than he was most of the time, whereas Dean walked the Earth like he owned it, all giddy energy and false bravado. His sleeping position just fit the pattern; Dean managed to occupy every bit of the bed and then some. More often than not he'd find Dean completely tangled in the sheets, lying diagonally across the bed, one arm always under the pillow, clutching the knife.

Now though, Dean was defenseless. He was propped up against the hospital pillows, his skin as white as the sheets, eyes closed, an IV in his arm and a tube down his throat helping him to breathe. They'd given him painkillers that'd take down an elephant and flooded his system with antibiotics, hoping to fend off infection that usually followed gun-inflicted wounds.

Dean had lost a lot of blood and was still in critical condition, but he'd been released from intensive care two hours ago. For the first time in a very long time Dean, king of back talk, keeper and defender of the last word in every discussion, had no way of slipping in one of his quick retorts and Sam should have made the most of it, but he couldn't think of anything to say.

Instead he just pulled his chair closer to the bed, crossed his arms and settled in for another night in a hospital chair that already had to be too small for people Dean's size.

+#+

_After Ellen had told him Sam was in Indiana – why the hell Indiana? - he had pushed the Impala to its limits. Usually he wouldn't even admit his baby had limits, but under these circumstances 130 mph wasn't enough. Rolling to a stop in front of yet another run-down fleabag,_

_Dean watched as Sam stepped over to the window and breathed a sigh of relief._

_"Thank God you're okay," he said, sounding weird in his own ears. Sam hadn't been gone for more than a few days and he was already turning into the Winchester pendant of a cat lady. Minus the pussy, in every sense of the word._

_He watched Sam pull the curtain aside a bit, revealing a dark-haired girl. This time the comment just rolled off his lips. "Oh, you're better than okay. Sammy, you sly dog!"_

_Why the hell his brother had run off in the middle of the night to get laid, especially after the whole "Dad asked me to kill you" talk, didn't really compute, but Sam had always been the weirder one and- was that a laser spot on Sam's jacket?_

_He was out of the car before he knew it, trying to find out where the sniper was, but he heard the first bullet fly and Sam was chatting along, oblivious of the fact that-_

_"SAAAAAAM!"_

+#+

Sam was awakened by his brother strepitously choking on the tube intruding his trachea. "Dean, Dean!" He was at his side, gently holding him down, telling him to let the machines breathe for him. Upon hearing Sam's voice, his brother seemed to relax enough to lean back again. "I'm here. You saved me, OK? You saved me."

Sam didn't even know whether Dean could hear him, but he kept talking after that. He talked about their hunts, the shows Dean liked, the ones he hated, the wagon loads of food he'd get his brother once the tubes came out…

He basically talked until his throat was sore and he fell asleep again.

By the time Dean could keep his eyes open and squeezed Sam's hand once for 'no' and twice for 'yes' when asked a question, the doctors were used to seeing Sam's huge form crumpled in the chair right beside the bed each morning. They also knew better than to touch Sam when he was sleeping. Two days ago he'd lashed out and jumped to his feet when some poor nurse wanted to offer him a cup of coffee.

When Dr. Evans entered the room, he made sure he was heard, clearing his throat before he approached the man sitting in a no doubt uncomfortable posture. The noise obviously startled the man and his reflexes left nothing to be desired.

Jumping to his feet sent a jolt of pain through Sam's back and he cursed as he carefully straightened up to his full height.

"Dr. Evans" he croaked, wondering if it came out as the question it was meant to be. The doctor gave him a warm smile and stepped closer to the foot of Dean's bed so he could check the chart.

"Looks like we can take the tubes out today" he announced sunnily and patted Sam's back in an awkwardly familiar way.

"He's gonna be as good as new in a month."

Sam managed a smile, but his heart stuttered in his chest. A month. A month during which they couldn't be on the road, couldn't hide, couldn't hunt. But then again, what had he expected?

+#+

+#+

* * *

(A1) Both Marty Balin and Jorma Kaukonen were guitarists and singers for the band Jefferson Airplane (and later Jefferson Starship / Starship / Jefferson Starship - The Next Generation)


	2. B

So the tubes would come out, that was at least something. He'd undergone the same treatment and knew for a fact that for the first two days you didn't feel much like talking or eating anything solid, but then it got better. He'd promised Dean to get him proper food, not the hospital stuff, and he planned to make good on that promise.

+#+

The first thing he brought was a muffuletta(A1) with extra cheese and without the olive salad, 'cause Dean really hated anything green or healthy with a passion. The way Dean grunted while he wolfed it down was only outdone by the stifled orgasmic groans he gave when he ate the strawberry pie Sam had brought. So he had his brother back. After Dean had finished his first coke ('cause beer was still out of question) he threw Sam one of his questioning looks, silently asking him to spill the beans already.

"Dean, do we need to talk about that now? You need to rest."

Dean furrowed his brow in protest, which was such an unfamiliar sight that Sam had to laugh. "OK, don't strain yourself. They say you'll be out in a month. They also say that after that you'll still need physiotherapy, which we both know you won't be here for. You'll need a wheelchair at first, but when your wounds have healed, you'll be allowed to walk around more and more."

He could tell Dean's heart sank just like his own had; the joy of the moment was gone. OK, so they were stuck in this hospital for quite a while and no matter what angle you looked at it from, it just sucked.

"You know how I always asked Dad to please stay another month? If only I'd known that getting myself shot would have helped," he said, smiling.

Dean batted his arm but gave a good-natured laugh, wincing because laughing still hurt.

"I mean it. Although, now that I think about it, I guess they wouldn't have let me go to school with some fresh new holes in my body…"

Dean rolled his eyes and flipped him the bird.

+#+

Two days later Dr. Evans deemed Dean's condition stable enough for Sam to get him out of the hospital for an hour or two, or, as he put it "mollify that powder keg till I can drug him back up".

Sam took Dean down to the sward the hospital staff obviously considered a lawn and arranged the wheelchair so it was facing the sunbeams Dean's skin had seen too little of during the last weeks. Dean closed his eyes and tilted his head upwards, folding his hands in his lap, as close to serenity as Sam had seen him in months.

As soon as Sam'd stepped outside the hospital, Dean's face had lit up.  
He'd never liked being curbed and Sam could tell that seeing the same hospital walls for days was wearing him down. Not that Sam was any better off, but at least he was physically able to leave.

It wasn't even the mint green or off-white flaky paint, or the omnipresent stench of disinfectant that bothered him; it was the indefinite length of their stay that made his skin crawl. Whenever they were staying at a particularly run-down motel he'd tell himself that they'd be gone soon, that there was no use complaining. Right now though, there weren't enough constants to predict the outcome.

He flopped down next to his brother and stretched out again, rolling his shoulders carefully to work out the kinks in his back.

"I texted Cassie again," he said between gritted teeth. "Told her things came up and we wouldn't be able to make it."

Dean glanced down at him briefly, for once _down_ at Sam, and then looked right into the sun. "I figured."

Sam crossed his arms in front of his chest and lolled his head on the armrest of the wheelchair. "I told her there's no need to come over."

Sam saw the hint of a nod out of the corner of his eye before his lids closed of their own will

He woke up due to Dean tugging at a strand of hair that lay within reach of his hampered right arm. "Sammy, wake up. It's getting pretty cold out here." He started, blinking unbelievingly at the sun setting in the west and quickly rose to his feet. "Dude, why didn't you wake me up earlier?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face and smiled his roguish you-just-make-it-too-easy-to-yank-your-chain big brother smile: "I think you need your beauty sleep. Besides I like it out here. It's peaceful."

"Peaceful, huh? I never thought I'd ever hear you say that."

Dean gave him a good-natured cuff. "You try having Jolly Green's stinky feet on your bed all night and you'll find anything peaceful."

"At least I don't snore, dillwad."

"Aw, Sammy, your logic's failing you. I can't snore with tubes in my throat."

And if that didn't sober him up… Dean was sick, only five days ago he'd needed a respirator to breathe. He shouldn't have stayed out so long.

"Right, let's get you back in bed. By the way, you'll like the new nurse

attending to you." Dean cocked his head and his eyes glimmered with mischief. "Not that kind of liking, Dean. It's just that her name is Janine."

Dean laughed out loud but ended up coughing roughly. "Janine. Heh."

Just like calling every lawyer Matlock, Dean had stuck to calling the nurses Janine until he found he liked them or learned their real name by accident.

For the first time Sam thought it a good thing that his brother was mentally around five years old when he wasn't on the hunt for evil, making money or meeting 'social networking' partners. As much as seeing the same hospital walls 24/7 sucked, it would have sucked infinitely more with a cranky Dean.

"So, does _Janine_ have any special qualities?"

"You mean other than having had ample opportunity to check out your naked butt while you haven't even laid eyes on her yet?"

Back in their room, Sam carefully lifted his brother up and helped him into his bed. When Dean started snoring lightly almost instantly, Sam resolved to get dinner for them and make another tour of the hospital.

Ever since Dean's admission he'd tried to keep his window sills salted and every night he laid a fine line of salt behind the closed door. Sometimes the night nurse would destroy the line on her checkup rounds, but he'd brought a bag of essentials so he could replenish it quickly.

After Dean's first nightmare he'd also put a dream catcher beneath Dean's bed; the last thing his brother needed was being awoken by his own screams again.

+#+

When Sam had finally left to go for decent food, Dean swung his legs off the bed and tried moving them around. His right leg worked fine, but whenever he tried to lift his left foot a sharp pain went all the way up to his hip. Broken ribs, a splenic rupture, damn bullet wound. He really wasn't riding the crest of the wave. He had to keep working his muscles, though. He didn't have time to start from zero and he knew from experience how quickly muscles degenerated. Just 'cause their travel plans had gone all catawampus didn't mean he could afford acting like a civilian.

He just had to hide this from Sam. Now that he was sick he could play the invalid card and send Sam on whatever random errands he damn well pleased so that shouldn't be too difficult.

+#+

+#+

* * *

(A1) A typical muffuletta consists of one muffuletta loaf, split horizontally. The loaf is then covered with a marinated olive salad, then layers of capicola, salami, mortadella, emmentaler, and provolone.


	3. C

Some indefinite time later, after Sam had come back, stuffed him full of bacon pancakes, and let him have his half-finished beer, Dean was beginning to feel uneasy. OK, not just beginning, the level of uneasiness was rapidly increasing. Sam was acting like they were actually gonna wait until Dean had fully healed, and they both knew they couldn't afford to. No one in their family had ever stayed in hospital until their official release date and he was not going to mess with the natural order of their little universe.

"I don't need you to take care of me, Sam."

Sam looked up from his sudoku, not at all surprised by Dean's statement.  
"Oh, that's rich coming from the world's most compulsive caretaker."

Since when was every conversation they had turning into a mouthing off contest? And since when had Sam improved his comebacks?

"I mean it, Sam. I'm not gonna stay here and serve your ass to Gordon on a silver platter." Sam had to know all this already. He was the one who always wanted them to lie low, asked Dean to keep his head down…

"He'd have to find us first, Dean. I admit that it's a little easier to cover our tracks when we're on the road, but no one here knows our real names. You're Marty Kaukonen, remember?"

Dean chuckled. "Very inconspicuous."  
"Coming from the man who gave "John Bonham" as his identity in Burkitsville?"

"Bite me."

Yeah, Burkitsville. That alone had been proof enough that he needed Sam to hunt with him, although he'd never admit it. Hunting the supernatural for more than twenty years just to get eaten by some lame pagan apple god? Still, they needed to leave this place asap and Sam would come to see that. He'd been admitted to this place 10 days ago, he'd stopped waking up to jackhammer headaches, and he didn't feel like he had to hurl all the time anymore, so he was practically good to go.

OK, maybe he couldn't lift his left leg and when he yawned it felt like his ribcage was on fire, but that was it. He just had to convince Sammy that he was fine, that they were better off on the road.

From day one, when Dean didn't want Sam to worry, he put up a show. And from day one, nine out of ten times, Sam just bought it. 'Cause he was good.

For one thing, he hadn't told Sammy how it freaked him out that he could move things with his mind. At least not until Andy came along and ruined that for him, but he was psychic, so that clearly didn't count. And in hindsight, he hadn't even said anything about moving things. Just about Sam's fear of becoming a killer and part of something terrible and how he was getting a little scared Sam might be right. But nothing about moving things!

For another, he hadn't told him just how scared of that yellow-eyed sonuvabitch he really was because the last thing Sam needed was knowing that the demon he was supernaturally tethered had turned into a nemesis for Dean. Unfortunately he may have given up part of that masquerade when he brought the Colt to the Sunshine Complex.

He'd done that to save his family, sure. He'd also done it 'cause he was scared as hell and, as a Winchester, the only answer to fear was gearing up.

He also hadn't told him how scared he'd been when Sam had left for Stanford. He'd told him Dad was proud of him though, even told him that he'd checked up on Sam whenever he could. But maybe that was something he should have done some months ago, before his drama queen of a brother went and talked to some random teenage bug maniac about how his family life sucked and his Dad never appreciated anything he did.

Despite telling him that even Dad had checked on him, Sam never asked where Dean had been. Never even wondered why Dean had known exactly where Sam's fridge was the night he broke in. So yeah, if Dean wanted to keep things from his little brother, it was easy as pie. Mostly.

The only problem was, ever since he'd woken up in the hospital, Sam had been so damn apprehensive around him, almost trying to guess his every wish, which was weird 'cause when Dean was in perfect health, Sam had no problems whatsoever to completely disregard Dean's wishes.

Sam made him eat more vegetables than any reasonable person'd ever consider, made him spend his hard earned money on bribing greedy bastards, made him sit around libraries where the librarians weren't even hot…But Dean got shot and suddenly there was _I Dream of Jeannie_ Sammy, only harem pants and daft little cap missing. Almost like he'd been brainwashed or something.

"Sam?"  
"Huh?"  
"You sure zombies haven't eaten your brain?"

Sam looked up from his sudoku and smiled. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure. Last one just broke my hand."

"Huh," said Dean and shrugged before searching for sutures on Sam's forehead.  
"So why are you doing this, hm? I mean, no complaints, but this is pretty weird. Even for you. Always sweating the cholesterol and now you stuff me with muffulettas and pie?"

Sam's smile grew wider. "I just thought if the bullet didn't kill you, we're gonna do it nice and slow."

Dean cocked his head, waiting for the real reason. When nothing followed, he leaned back and went back to sleep.

+#+

_They had been sitting here, nursing their beers, companionable silence allowing them to follow their own streams of thought for a while, when the door opened with a bang. Gordon. _

_Dean and Sam jumped from their bar stools at almost the same moment, but Dean sat closer to the door, habits 'n' all. Sam shoved him from behind, obviously wanting him out of the fireline, growling something in Gordon's direction Dean couldn't quite catch. Dean pulled his __gun and braced his shoulders, but Sam just sidestepped him and was out in the open. __Gordon sneered and calmly took aim. _

_Dean crashed into his little brother before the faint echo of "he's your responsibility now" even reached his brain. But it was too late. He could feel something warm trickle down the collar of Sam's shirt - or was it his own? But the __Mark23__1(A1)__ couldn't get through both of them, right?_

+#+

+#+

* * *

(A1) The Heckler & Koch MK23 Mod 0 (One of Gordon's favorites)


	4. D

When Sam jerked awake, the stale taste of Dean's panic in his mouth, it took him a little to find out where they were. He gulped in some air, pressed the heels of his hands into the sockets of his eyes and forced himself to calm down. It was just one of Dean's dreams. Dean was in the hospital. Dean had caught that bullet.

There really was a catch to dream catchers. The dreams had to go somewhere after all; the person who used them got the dreams of the person they protected. He'd been prepared for weird dreams when he'd put that dream catcher under Dean's bed, maybe dreams of _Godzilla vs. Mothra_ mixed with _Baywatch_ and Metallica singing in the background, things like that.

It turned out that Dean's dreams were closer to horrifying or bloodcurdling, or any other word that Sam thought had long lost meaning for him. Mostly they were about losing people, more precisely losing him or Dad. The versions of losing him kept changing, each a variant of Dean finally failing to protect him. Dad's demise stood out in sharp relief, marking the abyss Dean was privily staring down.

Sam could always try to keep the nightmares away, but he couldn't really help Dean recover. Beads of sweat had spread on Dean's forehead and Sam involuntarily thought of the time he'd infected Dean with chickenpox.

From the looks of it, Dean was working up a fever. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to straighten his back but was rewarded with a sharp pang in his left shoulder. He grunted, carefully lifted his shoulders, shrugged gingerly, and reached over to feel Dean's cheeks. Dean was radiating with heat.

"_Best to let him sleep as long as he can, won't be pretty when he wakes up, kiddo," a dee__p voice immediately commented. _

_Sam saw himself looking up, way up, to John looming over his older brother. "So he's not having breakfast with us, Daddy?" _

_John grinned. "We'll be lucky if he makes it to dinner, Sammy. Now, you gotta let your brother sleep, but how 'bout we both get the Impala back in shape and get some new books for you? We could get your brother some ice cream while we're at it, maybe some pie, too." _

_Sam had nodded, trying to mimic his father's solemn expression. "Can I drive?"_

_John laughed one of his deep, rumbling laughs, and the hand on Sam's shoulder crept up to ruffle his hair. "I told you Sammy, not before you turn nine(A__1)__."  
_

_Face sunken with disappointment, he'd left the room without another word. Dad had let him steer, though. He'd let Sam drive the car all the way back from the outskirts of town to where their cabin was._

_...  
_

Sam shook his head against the memory and glanced over at Dean, wearing the same innocent expression as he had back then, sleeping the deep sleep of the just. Or the deep sleep of incredible morons who'd rather catch a cold than go back to their room before the sun set.

+#+

When Dean woke up Sam was eyeballing him with the same scrutiny he usually gave weird old books or his own fingernails when he didn't want to talk. He felt kind of hot. More like really, really hot. So he was running a fever. Maybe Sam didn't know yet.

"What gives, McBroody?"

Sam cleared his throat and for once was happy that he'd never been able to hide his discontent as well as Dean.

"Why didn't you wake me up earlier? You're stupid, you know that?"

Dean kicked down the comforter and ran a tired hand over his face before sitting up. "It wasn't that cold Sam. You try being in this goddamn room 24/7 and see how you like it."

Sam lifted his chin in that stubborn way he so strongly denied having inherited from Dad and sneered. Dean's eyes widened with understanding.

After all, Sam hadn't been away for more than half an hour at a time, and whereas Dean had a bed, Sam was sleeping in that crappy chair. In fact, Sam seemed glued to his side as if they were Siamese twins (and no, he wasn't ever going to call it conjoined twins).

Sam just stared back at him, eyes boring into him like they wanted to tear him apart.

"Quit ogling me, pervert," Dean tried, sounding unconvincing even to himself.

He swung his legs off the bed and flexed his muscles, ignoring Sam for the moment. Maybe he really should have woken him up earlier; it was just that he wasn't used to hanging around places this ugly for this long.

Knowing that he could've met Cassie last weekend didn't exactly make things any better. If he could get Sam out of his hair for an hour or two, he might be able to get his head around a few things, like how to convince Sam they needed to leave. Yesterday.

"Sammy, can you get me something to drink?"

Sam scrambled to his feet, looking like he couldn't get away fast enough.

+#+

+#+

* * *

(A1) John Winchester's Journal, page 165 (May 2)


	5. E

Sam looked less morose when he returned, and the slushies he held out looked like a peace offering. He'd brought a bowl of extra ice cubes, and Dean couldn't help snatching one and popping it in his mouth when Sam turned his back on him.  
Rolling it around in his mouth so his tongue wouldn't freeze, he gave Sam a sunny smile and lay back. Sam sank down in the chair next to him and, sipping his own slushie, fell into amicable silence.

+#+

When he was almost done, Sam closed his eyes and thought about what they'd have to do next. Day 13 in this lousy place and Dean still couldn't walk around on his own. Doctor Evans had told him it would take the better part of a week for Dean to get strong enough to walk with crutches. He'd just have to keep Dean from killing himself.

A crunching noise startled him, and he opened his eyes to Dean chewing on something. The ice cubes.  
"Dean, get that out of your mouth!" Sam squeezed his idiot of a brother's mouth fish-lipped until the ice cubes dropped out. Great, now his brother was back to acting like a three year old!

Dean scowled and spread his arms akimbo: "I'm _twenty-seven_, dude. If I wanna eat ice cubes, I eat ice cubes."

Satisfied that he'd made his point, he put another ice cube in his mouth.

Sam reached up for Dean's mouth again but his big brother batted his arm away, trying to look as furious as possible with his mouth full of ice cubes.

"'am, 'm 'n adult, 'K?"

"You know what? You're right. My bad. You go ahead and eat ice cubes, if you wanna do that. And if you wanna sell your soul to the devil, you go and sell your soul to the devil."

Dean's mouth dropped open in disbelief before he swallowed three ice cubes as a whole, coughing a little.  
"Dude, PMS much? I'm not Dad, OK?! And last I checked, he sold his soul for _me_! Look, I get it, you're pissed, Sam, but stick to the fucking issue! Next time I'm cold I'll wake you, OK?"

+#+

Once Dean's fever had fully receded, things were looking up. Only two days after running a temperature, Janine brought Dean a pair of crutches and reintroduced him to using his legs for covering ground. Well, not really so much actually covering ground as just standing there, learning to fight gravity on his own again. Dean made it seem easy but Sam was sure it hurt After all, being patched up didn't leave you as good as new. Dean was only allowed to do so much though, and Janine really saw to it that Dean didn't leave the bed when he was supposed to rest.

As soon as Dean was off drugs, Sam made a point of handing him his knife back and explaining in his solemn I'm-the-brains-of-this-outfit manner that Dean needed to defend himself when he was gone to get food or fresh clothes. Duh.

Dean had brushed his brother's weird new behavior off as giving Dean a taste of his own medicine: compulsive care taking and acting like your idiot brother wouldn't survive a day without you.

But Sam, although he'd been patronizing as hell, hadn't fed him the same superiority crap Dean liked to pester his little brother with.  
Sam wasn't playing games, Dean realized in one of those face-palm moments, which he'd had far too many of during the last months: Sam was scared.

Now that Dean thought about it, it was a logical reaction under the circumstances. Dad was dead, and somewhere out there Gordon and the demon were waiting for their chance to make mincemeat of their family.

Sam had never been in the situation where he alone had to take care of his brother before. Dad had always been around.

Well, technically the man didn't even make an appearance when Dean was dying in Nevada (deep-frying himself hadn't been his smartest move), but Dean was sure he had been around, just like he'd been in Chicago, when Meg had sicced the Daevas on them. To Dean, taking care of his baby brother was like breathing, but Sam had to be feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders right now.

Another reason he needed to get better right the fuck now.

+#+

+#+


	6. F

Another three days and Dean felt fit enough to walk around more, but Janine vetoed that by stealing his crutches and hiding them in the supply closet. Sam had told her some half-lies about how his brother always put on a strongman act, and from the look she gave him, he could tell that his puppy-dog eyes worked on almost everyone, Meg and Dad excluded.

Dean just pushed and prodded. He really had ants down his pants now that he was so close to mobility again. He stored the chocolate bars Sam had brought him and tried to trade them in for his crutches. He brutalized the rose bushes at the front entrance of the hospital complex, bringing Janine a rose every time Sam took him outside.

He tried singing _Anya_(_A_1) to her, hoping she'd grow into the role of the 'spirit of freedom', but Dean's cacophonic Deep Purple performances didn't seem to get him any closer to walking. Dean's efforts were fun to watch, though, so Sam lay back and enjoyed the show.

He'd pleaded with Janine for more than a week, but given up after she told him she'd tattle on Sam's little food sneaking service to Doctor Evans if he didn't behave. So he did what little hobbling around he could and kept wearing the ankle weights he'd stolen from the supply closet on floor three… More borrowed than stolen.

Since the night nurse didn't even bother talking to him, he quickly dismissed the idea of getting her to bring him his crutches when Janine locked them away for the night. He could still get around in his wheelchair, but it wasn't the easiest thing to stealthily maneuver a wheelchair around your sleeping brother. He'd tried, but Sam hadn't liked it. And he needed Sam to get him decent food, so he couldn't piss him off beyond the usual level.

+#+

Three days later, when he'd almost resigned to his fate, he was finally allowed to walk around. But he couldn't. Even with Sam steadying him, he only made it to the door and back before collapsing on the bed.

Janine heartily announced that "that was so extremely good, Marty" but all he could see was his own dejectedness reflected in his brother's eyes. They were stuck here until Dean could walk on his own.

Janine had a tendency to overpraise Dean that stemmed from her time at the pediatrics ward, but apart from that they both liked her just fine, which made his daily trips to the door, and eventually beyond, a little more bearable.

After one more week he didn't need Sam to hold him up anymore and the jabbing pain he felt whenever he lifted his left leg had abated considerably. He'd actually managed to walk around half the ward on his own and that was as close to recuperated as he needed to come before leaving the hospital. In his book at least.

Sam was watching him like a hawk, always telling him to stop before his legs buckled, to go slow. Sam was being a pain in the ass, which shouldn't surprise him. It kinda reminded him of the time he'd caught chicken pox from the little bastard and Sam had hovered around, keeping him from scratching whenever he tried to sneak an arm under the blanket.

+#+

But Sam wasn't here to watch him now, he'd sent him out to get chicken fried steak and pekoe tea. He really wanted the steak, the tea was just to keep his brother occupied for a while. He knew where the cafeteria was and if he was going to walk for more than a quarter of an hour in a row he might as well go somewhere with pie. Never mind that he'd have a whole lot of steak to eat later, pie always went straight to his dessert stomach.

He grabbed the crutches of Mrs. Hughes next door – Janine still locked his in the closet- and made his way to the elevator. It was a good thing all the nurses were watching _General Hospital _now, they didn't even notice as he hobbled past the rec room. He pressed the first floor button and tried to ignore the slight trembling of his left leg.

As soon as the doors opened a savory smell filled the elevator and directed his attention to the counter at the far side of the room. So he had to get over there, find himself a nice piece of pie, and bring it back to his room where he would put it right on his table so the evidence of his little journey would hit Sam the minute he walked in.

By the time he'd reached the counter, he could feel beads of sweat trickling down his back, leaving a cold, sticky feeling in their wake. So maybe this was a little more exhausting than he'd thought.

Today's object of desire was goose berry pie with small pieces of caramelized strawberries on top. No, change that. Today's object of desire had blue eyes, silver halos around the iris, and long brown hair.  
Following his gaze she smiled and cocked her head a little: "The pie's looking good, isn't it?

He nodded and the head rush that ensued kinda made him want to not do that again. He tightened his grip on the crutches and closed his eyes for a second, trying to breathe against the pain. He had to do this; he had to prove that he could walk so they could finally take off.

Dithering in front of the counter hadn't really been part of the plan, though.  
"Sir, are you alright?"

Maybe he wasn't. He really wanted to sit down now and not get up for a while. He could still take the pie over to one of the tables, get a grip on himself, and then go back.  
"Sir, do you want me to get somebody for you?"

Just as he wanted to grit out "I'm fine" for the thousandth time in a month, his knees gave way and he sank to the ground in a clash.

Smooth, Dean Winchester.

+#+

+#+

* * *

(A1)  
"Anya - the spirit of freedom  
Anya - oh Anya  
The light of freedom buried  
Deep within your soul" (Deep Purple- Anya)


	7. G

When Sam came back to an empty room and found that Mrs. Hughes' crutches had miraculously walked off on their own his heart missed a beat.

He'd only been out for an hour, so Dean couldn't have gone far. He quickly checked the shower unit, but of course Dean wasn't in there. He felt stupid looking under the covers, but he lifted them anyway. He turned around, hoping he had missed something; scanned the room for a note, but nothing.

+#+

Nothing. Dammit! "Janine?!"  
"Coming!" she hollered from the hallway. "Captive transport wasn't part of my job description!"

Sam bolted through the door to see Dean, back in the wheelchair, being pushed by a visibly pissed Janine. Dean hunched down in the chair and fixed his gaze on the tip of Sam's shoes.

"Tell your brother that next time he wants to do a runner he should at least take the wheelchair!" she hissed, glowering at Dean while she rolled him next to the bed.

"I thought you had fattened him up like a turkey, so why is he still going for pie?"

Sam swallowed convulsively against the string of curses threatening to tumble out and clenched his fists.

"Anyway, he's your responsibility now. My shift's over."

+#+

Sam just nodded and prayed to God that Dean would manage to get on the bed on his own, if he had to help him now he'd probably lose it and whack him out of principle alone.  
"So what did you do?"

Dean winced at the harsh tone of his brother's voice but met his chilly gaze. "We need to get out of here. I am working towards that. What the fuck are you doing?"

Sam shook his head and huffed incredulously.  
"You think walking around when you're not ready to is such a huge contribution? What am I gonna do with an invalid brother who won't even see that he can't help me on a hunt and exposes us to danger?

"I'm a professional Sam, I know what-"

"Oh yeah? Like it's so professional to walk around like you're fine when you can't even lift your left leg higher than 4 inches? And yeah I noticed, 'cause I'm not stupid.  
I know why you sent me out for food and if I hadn't known before, the freaking tea would have been a dead giveaway.  
I just wanted to get out of your hair for some time 'cause I know it's gotta suck to be bedridden, but you know what?  
I'm gonna stay right here in this freaking hospital chair and if you try to walk around, so help me God, I will tie you to the bedposts."

Dean swallowed hard and averted his gaze. So maybe he'd screwed up. A little. Still no reason to yell at him like that. And it wasn't like Sam was taking care of himself either.

"You're one to talk!" he blurted, internally cursing himself for saying it out loud. Sam gave him a quizzical look and leaned forward menacingly in his chair.  
"You should really get a good night's sleep or something close to that house number. Those chairs will kill you in the long run. You just don't fit into normal sized furniture. It's like the camel and the eye of the needle. No wonder you're so cranky."

"Cranky?"

Sam straightened to his full height, which, Dean had to admit, looked kinda impressive from where he was lying on the hospital bed. Sam was a lot like Dad when he was angry, all flailing arms, flaring nostrils, narrowed eyes. When Sam and Dad fought, the only things missing were chest thumping and ramming their heads. Unfortunately Sam's anger was directed at him right now and Sam was fuming.

"Quit worrying about me, Dean, you're in a goddamn wheelchair."

Dean plastered a careless smile on his face and met Sam's gaze.  
"Hey, easy, I call her Thunderbird!"

Sam was dumbfounded for a moment, but the deep scowl returned in a heart beat. "Dean!"

"I should get her some cool lightning tags. Do you think you could get those for me while I'm in here?"

"Dean!"

"What? Don't be such a buzz kill!"

Sam took a menacing step forward, flailing his arms and said in a brusque tone: "DEAN! Quit it, ok? People always tell me I'm the stubborn one, but falling over because you can't admit you're in pain? That's so you, Dean, and it means three steps back 'cause you were on crutches and now you're in that damn chair again!"

"Relax, Sammy. I'll take it easy, OK?"

+#+

+#+


	8. H

When Dean was allowed to start walking around again, he went back to being his old fidgety self. He knew that restlessness. It usually had him pacing like a tiger behind bars, nervous and on high alert all at once.

Other people might describe it as ADHS and stuff him full of Ritalin, but Dad had always liked that he was a go-getter; he never waited around when there were things to be done.  
OK, maybe he did wait sometimes, but only if he could make Sam do them. Anyway, whenever that feeling came over him, he knew it was time for a hunt.

+#+

Casting a look at Sam's sleeping form, sunken back in the hospital chair, his features slackened by sleep, looking like a five year old, Dean quickly dismissed the idea of checking himself out in a cloak-and-dagger operation.

It wouldn't be a hard thing to do; he had a few people who still owed him, some strings to pull if he wanted to. Contrary to what he fed Sam, he did keep in contact with some people outside their little family of two, three including Bobby.

So it wouldn't be hard once Sam had gone to get groceries or clothes. But it wouldn't be smart either, or considerate, to put it in Sam's words.

In fact, it would be like screaming 'you should have decked me the first time I strained too much' into Sam's face, and he didn't really feel up to that yet.

+#+

Sure, Sam was sleeping right next to him to keep evil away from his older brother, but he was also pretty effectively keeping Dean away from evil. There was no way he was getting out of there unnoticed with Sasquatch on watch. He couldn't even take a leak without Sam standing guard outside.

Whether Sam liked it or not, he'd have to leave Dean alone and get back on the road, for short gigs at least. Trouble was, Sam was reluctant to leave the room even if it was to get coffee. Well, technically Sam had every right to have a problem with getting coffee in hospitals, but Dean hadn't made a deal with the freaking devil, and he wasn't dying anytime soon.

Other people were, though. With every day they were stuck there, idly surfing cartoon channels, other people were losing their loved ones.

There was no way to get out of the hospital unnoticed when Sam was on watch – but he knew where the supply closet was and a little diazepam would really support his purpose.

+#+

When Sam woke up, with the pain in his back that was just another dull ache a Winchester needed to get used to, he saw a note Dean had hastily scribbled down. 'Out with Janine. Left a hunt for your sorry ass. '

A hunt? How could Dean honestly still believe he'd leave him behind?

He'd left him in the past and he'd told him once they'd killed this demon he wanted to go back to college, but that was before his own brother told him Dad wanted him killed if he couldn't be saved.

You couldn't be Joe-college when you had death visions and people were out to kill you. He'd learned that if he wanted normalcy, he'd have to kill his way through to it first.

Ever since then, he hadn't given Dean any reason to believe he was leaving.

He might be a stubborn ass sometimes, fine. He might have been a little too insistent on killing things, fueled by the same consuming anger that had driven Dad to an early grave. And, yeah, maybe he'd been a little harsh last night. But a hunt?

+#+

When Dean's cell rang, he wasn't surprised to see Sam's name flashing on the small display. Getting away from the booth in the diner took him a little longer than usual, but Sam would call again, after all he probably knew that it would take Dean a little longer to find a spot where he could talk in privacy in his current state. However, seconds before his mailbox kicked in, Dean picked up the phone.

Wow, Sammy was really trying to beat the _Gilmore Girls_ talking speed.

"Sam, Sam! Would you shut up for a minute?"  
"No, I can't Dean! 'Cause you still think-"

The guy really knew how to take things the wrong way!  
"Sam, this is not about you leaving, this is about people dying out there!"

"What?" came Sam's irritated reply.

"Uh, we're hunters? We've got responsibilities?" Janine was waving at him through the huge window near the entrance and flashed a bright smile.

Dean smiled right back and thanked Dad's "how to lie to a civvie" training.

"Yeah, Dean, I know that. _You_ are my responsibility!"  
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sam, you don't get to pull that brotherly shit!"

"Is this about Stanford?" Sam's question came out gruff, but Dean knew Sam still felt guilty for leaving. Not so much leaving as _leaving Dean with Dad when we all know the man is an obsessed bastard_.

"Yeah, you know what, if guilt is the only thing that gets you going, then this is about Stanford!"  
"Dean…"

"You left before, Sam. You didn't look back once. You didn't even call to see how I was doing, and I was doing fine. Maybe you haven't noticed, but I hunted before you came along. So thank you, knight in shiny armor, but I really don't need you hovering!"  
"Dean, you've never been _alone_ before!"

"You think Dad would have held my hand on a hunt?

Sam snorted and couldn't help laughing.

"Exactly! So don't go babying me, Sam. No one says you're leaving. All I ask of you is that you hunt, save some people, put that geek energy of yours to use."  
"Right."

"So get your ass in gear, college boy."

"Alright, I'll go. But don't do anything stupid while I'm gone. Don't walk around like you're fine, Dean. Don't sit outside for too long. And don't walk without crutches!"

"You wanna gimme the whole 'shoot first, ask questions later' again?"

"Whatever. Just don't make me regret this."

Sam hung up without another word and eyed the scraggly note, trying to wrap his head around the fact that his brother had just sent him on a hunt. Alone.

+#+

+#+


	9. I

On the first day he pouted when some nurse in her fifties had tried to make him eat hospital grub and instead asked for Janine, who took pity on him and shared her homemade noodle casserole with him. It was cold, but it was definitely better than the sallow gobbets he'd seen on the plate he'd been offered earlier.

On the second day Janine finally gave him his pair of crutches back, stating that "Poor Mrs. Hughes is lucky she's a sound sleeper. Finding some stranger who's stealing her stuff would be disastrous to her weak heart."

Dean smirked and gave Janine a lewd look that had her stopping mid-motion. "I don't know a lot of girls who didn't like having me in their bedrooms."

Three days after Sam had left, Dean knew where Janine lived, what kind of music she liked- how cool was it to meet a nurse who actually liked Zeppelin? - and when her shifts started and ended. He'd also memorized the name of every staff member in the hospital, the blueprint of the building, when and where supplies were delivered, and who to bribe if he wanted something other than hospital grub.

He'd also realized that his chances with Amanda, the pretty chick from the cafeteria, were close to zero, 'cause seeing him practically pass out had kinda scared her to death. Whatever. Wasn't like she was the only hot girl in the hospital.

He always kept the wheelchair close to his bed 'cause if he really had to escape, he wouldn't make it very far on crutches, and the last thing he wanted was to be known as the guy who tripped over his own feet and died of a broken neck. So far though, the only thing remotely big, bad, or scary had been that night nurse who gave him the creeps.

+#+

When day four came around and he couldn't sleep – no, he wasn't worried about Sam! – he discovered that Dr. Evans, who was covering night shift now, was a fairly decent poker player. He still owed Dean 30 bucks when he sent him to bed around 3, but Dean hadn't even toned down his game like he usually did when he played against someone weaker.

When he came to his room and saw the night nurse looking at the salt lines on the window sill his stomach dropped, but she just turned around and surprised him by saying her very first complete sentence to him, which turned out to be: "Seems like the cleaning squad never made it to your room, huh?"

The next day he tried to burn off all his excess energy by rolling around in Thunderbird but then decided he'd try walking to the cafeteria again. This time he asked Janine to come along with the wheelchair, just in case.

He sat down during the elevator ride but walked all the rest of the way on his own. It only felt half weird when Janine rewarded him with a kiss on the cheek for something that even a toddler could do.

On day six he picked up the phone, stared at Sam's number for half an hour and then called Bobby instead. He hung up before the second ring.

Bobby called back an hour later, saying he'd been in the yard and that it wasn't the same without Rumsfeld running around.

When they hung up, he still wanted to call Sam, but Sam had already called in twice and he wanted to reserve his right of calling Sam a girl, so he couldn't very well call him again.

+#+

+#+

When Sam returned eight days later, two days just for the drive, he was worried sick about Dean. As Dean Winchester's younger brother, you couldn't really call your brother every time you were worried, not unless you were rolling in dough, had a good hands-free kit, and no problem with being called Samantha for the rest of your life. Even reducing calls to twice a day might not get you around 'Samantha' though.

As he opened the door to Dean's room, he was struck by a strong smell that hadn't been there before. He couldn't put his finger on it but it was definitely more in the herb garden area, nothing immediately threatening like sulphur or burnt flesh. Still, weird smells weren't a good sign, so he tried treading as lightly as his steel-toed boots would allow.

Catching sight of Dean, sprawled all over the bed, creases on his cheek where it had touched the crumpled sheet, he breathed a sigh of relief and entered the room. When the irritating smell got more pronounced, he stilled and looked around in search of the source.

Mojo bags! In every corner of the room! What the hell?  
"Dean, wake up!"

"'m 'wake, go 'way…"

Sam couldn't help but smile at Dean's way of welcoming him back.

"Dean?" he tried again and this time was rewarded with one heavy eyelid opening.  
"Yeah?"

"What happened here?"

Dean yawned, stretched, rubbed the sleep from his eyes with the heels of his hands, slowly sat up, brushed tufts of ungelled hair back into place, yawned again and grinned at Sam, who was losing patience by now.

"Where did you go to get all this stuff? 'Cause if you sent me away so you could sneak out, I swear to God I'll-"

"_Relax_, Sam. I stayed right here in this fucking room, only got up to take a piss. If you wanna arrest me for that, go ahead."

God, Sam wanted nothing more than to wipe his brother's smug smile off his face. "So how did you get the mojo bags, huh? Find a delivery service?"

If anything, Dean's smile got even cockier.  
"I have, actually."

"What?"

"Name's Bobby."

Bobby? Why would Bobby come all the way out here to decorate the room with some supernatural potpourri?  
"Bobby?"

"Yeah, Sam, the guy with the ball cap and the beard."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Dean, what did he want?"

"He just missed his favorite Winchester."  
"Yeah, right," Sam snorted. "Why was he here?"

Dean scratched the back of his head, clearly feeling more awkward than complacent now. "I, uh, might have called him?"

Sam looked around, searching for signs of struggle, only half-relieved when he couldn't find any. Dean wouldn't have bothered Bobby if it hadn't been important. There would have to be some kind of danger, something that made it necessary to drag Bobby out here.

+#+

+#+


	10. J

"Called him why, Dean? Cat got your tongue?"

Dean shifted, squirming under Sam's scrutiny.  
"Dean?"

"I kinda asked him to go after you, OK?"

Great. Sam Winchester couldn't go anywhere on his own. He'd thought with both of them being adults now, equals regarding their job, Dean would have given up on the old habit of stalking him. 'Cause really, that's what it was, wasn't it?  
Following him, waiting for him to screw up. They might as well have put a dog leash on him!

+#+

Sam took a deep breath against the surfacing rage and forced himself to think before speaking… Only thinking was impossible with that kind of blind rage clogging his brain.

"So you can't even trust me with a salt 'n' burn, is that it, Dean? Am I still just the fuck-up you and Dad took me for when I left?"

Dean winced, but Sam wasn't done yet. All the worries and the lack of sleep manifested themselves in a rant he hadn't known was building up inside of him until he let it out.

"You know I fought twice as hard to get Dad to give me half as much freedom as he gave you. I can't believe I actually bought it when you told me you were only walking me to school 'cause Dad said so. Must have been damn convenient for you, to take the pet of the family for a walk, huh? But tell you what Dean, I'm sick of it. I can pick my own battles! What did you do, tell Bobby to watch me for a while and give me a treat or two if I was good?"

Dean's shoulders slumped under that torrent of hostility.  
"It's not like that, Sammy."

"Then what is it like?" Sam snapped, arms flailing with the helpless attempt to comprehend his brother's behavior.

"I asked him to look out for you, OK? You… you haven't worked a gig on your own for a while, not that you can't… but you haven't and I was kinda worried because Gordon's still out there and I just…"

Sam looked at the crestfallen expression on his brother's face and felt like a complete moron.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

+#+

After Sam had apologized for his outburst, for what felt like the thousandth time, and Dean had told him as many times that he wasn't doing chick flick moments and would Sam drop it already, Sam sat down on the chair next to him and rummaged around in his duffel, producing a takeout bag with grease spots all over it. "I, uh, got you something."

"Well thank God I'm not the wine and dine type," Dean chuckled, grabbing the bag out of Sam's hands.

Sam tried to rearrange his body to be able to fit into the chair comfortably, but his pretzel-like contortions only earned him a fit of laughter from Dean and an alarming crack from his spine. Eventually, untangling as much as possible, he gave up, took his boots off, and put his feet on Dean's bed.

"Feel better now, Sasquatch?" Sam just grunted in response, eyes already closed, his bangs shielding them from the sunlight flooding the room.

+#+

Sam was awoken by a smack on his forehead and a well-known harrumph he sleepily located somewhere behind him.  
"Hey Bobby" he rasped, too soothed by the first hours of unworried sleep he'd had since he'd left to open his eyes yet.

"Don't you dare 'hey Bobby' me! If something like this happens to your brother you pick up the phone and you call me."

Suddenly, Sam was wide awake and his heart was hammering in his chest. Those were Dad's words!

Bobby, obviously taken aback by Sam's spooked expression, took a step back and cleared his throat again. "Anyway, son, good to see you."

Sam quickly schooled his features and removed his feet from Dean's bed.  
"Good to see you, too. I heard you were on my trail?"

Bobby shook his head, a fond smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Nah, I figured Dean needed someone to keep all the nurses fighting over him at bay."

Sam wanted to reach out and draw Bobby into a smothering hug, but managed to convey his gratefulness with a quick look he hoped Dean hadn't registered.  
Bobby winked at him and then strode over to the windows, apparently checking a sigil he'd drawn on the window sill.

Tracing the lines with his fingers he muttered: "So Sam, I could really go for decent food. I bet you know a place or two outside the hospital?"

"Actually Bobby, there's this really cool-" Dean tried, but was interrupted by "I was talking to your brother. You'll stay right here."

Sam laughed as Dean gave Bobby a death glare followed by an almost-pout. 'Almost' 'cause although he'd do almost anything for food, pouting was definitely not one of them.

"No use staring, kid. I don't give a crap about that big ole silent treatment of yours. Maybe if you were more like your Dad you'd have a chance of wearing me down, but we both know the only way you're gonna keep silent for more than an hour is if you bit off your tongue."

+#+

+#+


	11. K

Sam couldn't help laughing at Dean's misery. He'd gotten rid of Sam only to be stuck with Bobby – and by the looks of it Bobby was a lot stricter than Sam could have been.

Dean made a shooing motion and grumbled, "Out of the king's lair then. And if you two have wings and don't bring me any you're dead meat! Just so you know."

Bobby turned around smiled. "Well, Sam, I guess we've outstayed our welcome. Come on, let's get some wings and lock them in the supply closet next to your brother's crutches!"

+#+

Sam let Bobby leave the room first, closed the door to Dean's curious eyes and stepped right into Bobby's way. Maybe if he did it this way, Bobby would be too surprised to lie to him. "So what are the mojo bags for?"

Bobby raised an eyebrow at him and tipped his head back to look him in the eyes. "What d'ya think you idgit?"

"Uh…"

"Protection against demons. I figured with what happened to you recently it should be pretty clear that salt alone can't ward them off. There are plenty of Steves out there whose blood you wouldn't want on your hands."

Sam tried not to react to the name, but he felt the blood rushing in his ears.

"What about the charms you gave us?"

"They're no good for permanent protection. Considering what's after you, you should get tattoos or something."

Sam laughed but his smile quickly faded when he saw Bobby's serious expression. "Wait, you actually mean it, don't you?"

Bobby rolled his eyes. "What d'ya want me to do, write a note and pin it to your forehead?"

Bobby looked at it like he was planning where to put in the pin.

"By the way, you look like crap. I guess with you two I always gotta be in two places at once."

Sam took a casual step to the side and his heels hit the wall. Swaying a little, he blindly reached out behind himself. "What do you mean?"

Bobby put a steadying hand on his shoulder and looked him up and down. "Well, have you looked into a mirror lately?"

"What, do I have egg on my face or something?"

Bobby's eyes turned sympathetic for a moment. "If you had, that would be the least of your worries."

+#+

So egg on his face was the least of his worries? What could be so much worse than that? Of course trying to look at his own face made him look cross-eyed, but that didn't stop him from trying.

Bobby flicked him across the forehead.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Dean's room. There's a mirror!"

Sam hadn't realized how tense he'd been until Bobby had showed up. Sure, his back had been sore enough to make it look like he was trying to bring back robot dancing, but he thought he was dealing fine.

Trying to reconnect with the person staring back at him from the mirror told him otherwise- he looked like crap, five o'clock stubble more of a round-the-clock stubble field (contrary to what Dean believed, his beard grew fine if he let it) and his face hidden behind layers of grime he vaguely identified as dirt road residue. Huh. He hadn't even taken the time to shower after the hunt.

For some reason this struck him as incredibly funny and, staring harder now, he wondered why his reflection seemed to be laughing out loud when he was sure he'd decided against letting out a half-sane cackle in a hospital bathroom. It dawned on him that not only had he forgotten to shower, he also hadn't had more than two hours of sleep in a row, only stopping for gas and once for a burger on his way back.

After prodding the shadows under his eyes unbelievingly and poking his eye-ball due to a sleep-induced lack of eye-hand coordination, he was finally convinced that he hadn't just dreamt that little incident at the last witness' house. He'd fallen asleep during the examination and only woken up after she'd placed her hand on his shoulder in a sympathetic gesture.

Luckily she'd been all eyes after he'd flashed the badge and even more fortunately she was one sandwich short of picnic. When he told her he was working overtime due to the series of unsolved murder cases in the area she'd started rubbing his back and announced that America needed more hard working men like him, giving him her best come-hither smile.

How any girl could think that an FBI agent who fell asleep while hearing a witness would be up for banging said person the next second was beyond him, but he'd plastered a dimpled smile on his face and complimented his way out of the house as quickly as possible. Wow, he sucked when he was exhausted.

Again, he hadn't meant to say that last sentence out loud, but Dean's growled "damn straight" told him his tired brain had finally given up filtering all the crap he was thinking.

+#+

All of a sudden - or had they been warning him? - the door opened and Bobby laid a hand on his back. Sam looked down at his hands and had a hard time concentrating on dislodging them from the sink he hadn't been aware holding onto. "Come on, you stubborn idgit, your brother's right."

Bobby was gently pushing him towards the door and Sam's head shot up in protest. "I have to shower first." Looking at Bobby, he tried his best lost puppy impression but his bloodshot eyes were working against him.

"You do stink like monkey feet, but we better get you to sleep a little first before you fall and smash your head on the tiles."

Sam managed to let the sink go and giggled.

"Yeah, wouldn't look good, my blood on the tiles…But hey, at least you can wash it off, right? 'Cause they're tiles, you know?"

+#+

+#+


	12. L

Dean shot Bobby a worried look but Bobby unerringly steered Sam to the door. After they'd left Dean's room and the hospital behind, Bobby drove Sam to the motel room the kid should have rented for himself a month ago.

Putting Sam to bed turned out to be harder than it should have been. Sam was liked a marionette without his strings and there was a reason why these puppets were usually small. Bobby had to drag him from the car up to the room, a dead weight in his arms not yet close enough to comatose to stop making startled noises when Sam's head hit the steering wheel as Bobby pulled him out on the driver's side.

Not bothering with a silent retreat, Bobby skeltered for the door as soon as he'd flung Sam's body on the small bed so he wouldn't fall off.

Even taking in account that Sam's spent some days in a miniature hospital chair and some days sleeping in a car – 'cause he couldn't find motel matches anywhere and Sam always took at least one box- Sam looked considerably crappy. It wasn't like the boy to spiel like that; usually Sam only talked when he had something to say (or when he wanted to annoy that brother of his).

It was almost as if Sam had been drugged, body too limp, all his words drawn out like molasses. The kid's pupils and temperature had been fine, though.

It'd been like pulling teeth but between "your ballcaps are funny", "the road is real bumpy…bumpy road" and "where is Dean" he'd also managed to get out that the hunt had gone fine. Fantastic.

He still didn't get just why it hadn't occurred to either of the boys to call him before one of them died of internal bleeding, sleep deprivation, or their own stupidity. He'd thought that after John's death he'd made it clear that he'd always be there. Apparently though, they were still caught in their little two-man universe they'd created. Couldn't really blame 'em, though, it's the only thing they've ever-

A panicked cry cut through the silence and before he knew it, he was back in the room, kneeling over Sam, shaking him.

+#+

_Dean had stopped talking a mi__nute ago. His head rested heavily on Sam's thigh, his labored breath a loud wheeze in the unsettling silence. The snow around them seemed to swallow every ambient noise, it felt like they were the only two people in the world. _

_Dean was all he had. Dean, whose blood was currently more on his outside than his inside. Dean, whose face had turned as white as the snow flakes coverings his hair, paleness only broken by the blood caking his split lip. _

_He kept two fingers on Dean's pulse and watched him take those toilsome breaths 'cause he needed something, anything, to ground him and keep him from panicking. _

_He already felt that numbness creeping up inside him, the same way he'd felt it when he was silently freaking out in his motel room when Dean was dying after killing that Rawhead._

_It clenched his heart like a fist and all he could do was count that frail heartbeat beneath his fingers. He'd get Dean to a hospital, the ambulance'd be there any minute now. Dean would be fine. Dean was always fine. He was the older one, he had to – _

"_No, no, no, no!" He heard himself scream and a distant part of him commented: "I guess his heart just skipped a beat." He couldn't help shaking Dean, because he had to-"_

+#+

Only a few minutes ago not even a Klaxon could have woken Sam, now he was thrashing around, gasping like a stranded fish. Stepping closer, Bobby noticed a fine red twine tied around Sam's left wrist where the sleeve of his shirt had rode up. Now that he looked at it, he could also see a white thread tied to it, interwoven with a strand of fair hair.

What was that, some kind of hoodoo spell? The boy should know better than messing around with this kind of stuff! His first impulse was to yank it off, but you never know what happens when you break a spell like that.

He shook Sam and was rewarded with the hurt kind of sounds a trapped animal would make. Well, what doesn't kill you…

Sam found himself staring into a pair of gray-blue eyes, surrounded by crow's feet and an air of concern. Somebody had grabbed a fist of his shirt and was shaking him.

A distant voice percolated through the thick haze of panic mingled with drowsiness. Dean. Where was Dean?

"Dammit, what is it with you Winchesters and lying still?"

Sam shook his head but the stupor was clinging to him, his vision was blurry and he still had the faint scent of blood in his nose.  
"Dean is shot," he blurted, struggling to get up, find enough leverage to flop that other person to the ground. He felt like he was going to vomit, but that would have to wait until he knew what had happened to Dean.

"Oh you'll join his club if you don't get shut-eye when you're told to!"

He knew that voice. Bobby. Bobby was holding him down. Bobby would know what to do.  
"Go help Dean," he said, tugging futilely at Bobby's hand still fisted into his shirt.

"He's fine, you moron. It ain't him I'm worried about."

+#+

Why wouldn't Bobby go help Dean? And why was he in a bed?

"Bobby," he slurred, fixing his eyes on the older hunter with urgent plea, "please, he's bleeding."

Bobby shook his head and ruffled Sam's hair, something he hadn't done ever since Sam'd outgrown him, and reaching up turned out to be quite a challenge with Sam being so skittish about physical closeness whenever John or Dean was around.

"Nobody's bleeding, Sam. Dean is fine. Now you sleep this off and then you can go check on your brother, OK?"

Upon hearing Bobby's reaffirmation, all fight left Sam and he sunk back into the pillows, comfortable warmth pulling him down. "OK."

+#+

+#+


	13. M

"Rise and shine, Sammy!" a booming voice cut through his dreams.  
"Dean?"

He couldn't open his eyes yet, he felt like the reverse of those cartoon figures: they held their eyes open with toothpicks, his seemed sealed with three tons of cement.

"Alive and in the flesh, princess. Heard you made quite the scene yesterday."

Sam angled his face towards the corner of the room the voice had to be coming from and slowly opened his eyes.  
"Why aren't you in the hospital?"

Dean gave him a strange look and walked over to the window, pulling the curtains back. Bright sunlight hit Sam's eyes and he felt like a freight train had run over his head.

"God… Dean… light."

"Suck it up, Sam, 19 hours of sleep is enough."  
"19 hours?"

Dean nodded and tossed Sam some fresh clothes; Sam'd brought all his stuff to the hospital along with Dean's.

"So why aren't you in the hospital?"

Dean smiled a predator smile that made Sam feel really uneasy. Usually that kind of smile was aimed at the creatures they hunted, fierce joy mingled with bloodlust and the half-lucid part in Dean thinking he could take on anything as long as the adrenaline was rushing through his veins.  
Dean fumbled around in the back pocket of his jeans and produced the dreamcatcher, dangling the broken device in front of Sam's nose like a trophy.

"I'm here to personally kick your ass from here to Texas for stealing my dreams like that!"

+#+

Sam gulped, knowing that his saucer eyes would betray his alibi if he tried to weasel himself out of this.

"You were in no condition to deal with them. Besides, I didn't know you dig redheads that much."

"If you weren't in bed already I'd clock you one for this. I'm serious!"

Random threats of violence were something he could deal with.  
Sam tried his puppy dog eyes but all it earned him was an even angrier look from Dean. "You think this is funny, Sam? Do I look like the fucking Sandman to you? They're my dreams!"

They were indeed Dean's dreams, that was why keeping them away didn't come without a catch.  
Not only did Sam have to dream Dean's dreams every night, no if he refused to fall asleep for a long time, all the dreams Dean would have had were crammed into one and their intensity increased.  
Also, with the benefit of seeing the dream with his _and_ Dean's perspective, it was kind of like he had the kaleidoscope eyes of a fly – but he was staring at evil and the more points of view you had, the more it felt like putting a normal nightmare under a magnifying glass.

Sam nodded meekly and scooted back until he was huddled against the head of the bed. "It's broken now anyway, so why is it such a biggie?"

Dean opened his mouth, but whatever it was that he'd wanted to say froze on his lips. He looked away and hunched his shoulders; and there was that tiny clench of his jaw.

"Seriously, Dean? You think you gotta hide your dreams from me?"

Dean opened his mouth again, only to let out a warning "Saaam".

"Dean, what is it that you wanna hide? Is it that you dream about me going dark side? 'Cause, tough for you, but with those looks you shoot me when you think I'm not looking I knew that before. I can handle it if you think I'm a freak, I won't even cry and write sappy poems about it."

Dean shook his head and stormed out. Well, 'storming' would have fit better if his brother'd actually managed anything near 'fast walking', but Dean rendered such an air of hostility to hobbling out on crutches that it damn well looked like storming.

He heard Dean and Bobby rambling for a while and then Bobby's footsteps coming closer. Not bothering to knock, Bobby opened the door, peered in and furrowed his brows, seemingly weighing his words.

"Just so we're clear: John might have walked out of here in worse condition, but as long as _you_ put your orang-utan legs under my table, you don't get to sneeze without askin' me."

Sam nodded dutifully and tried not to smile.

"And if you ever use a dreamcatcher again, I'll throttle you!"

With that, Bobby gave him another stern look, turned around, and closed the door.

+#+

+#+


	14. N

An hour later, after Sam'd heard Bobby's Chevelle leave the parking lot and settled on watching TV instead of mulling the last conversation over in his head, he perked up with interest on the mentioning of Gordon's name on the news –perked up because he was tired, not because he was thinking about Dean having secrets, OK?.

"After a hot pursuit, leading the police and the FBI through two states, the police have finally been able to arrest the fugitive Gordon Walker, convicted with grave desecration, impersonating government officials, illegal gun possession, aggravated assault, and murder in three cases.  
The agent in charge of the case, Victor Henrickson, states that Walker will be extradited to a maximum security facility this very day, apparently he is facing several years of solitary confinement."

Not bothering to switch off the news, he merely muted the TV before pressing Dean's number on speed dial.

"What?"

OK, so maybe Dean was still pissed. He had ways to change that.  
"Guess what."

He could practically hear Dean roll his eyes on the other end of a line, followed by a put-upon sigh.

"Betty Ross Banner(A1) and you finally got together?"

Sam laughed despite himself and shook his head.  
"Nah, much better. Gordon finally got jugged."

"Yeah?" He could hear genuine surprise warring with weariness, strangely enough with Dean those two things went hand-in-hand most of the time.

"Let's see how long they can keep him locked up this time."

+#+

It took Dean two more days to try walking around more than was good for him again. Unfortunately this time around, Sam was there to chide him and throw a temper tantrum when he wouldn't listen.

Bobby left after the third day. He had a lead on a nahuales(A2) that had crossed the border at New Mexico. These things changed shapes more often than Pamela Anderson changed bra sizes, so you really had to move fast if you wanted to track them.

Just a few days later, when even Sam had to admit that he was as healthy as a Winchester could be, he found himself sitting in the cafeteria, staring at a piece of cake that didn't look half as good as the one Amanda had pointed out to him.

Sam had insisted on sitting in the back corner, looking around as if he was truly suspicious of the few old people chatting over at the next table.

Dean had decided not to nag him about his "half-caff double vanilla latte," Sam had grown a little tetchy over the weeks and since he was alone with him again, he didn't want to press his luck.

Sam cleared his throat louder then necessary and started running his nails over a faded marker line on the table. "So, about that dreamcatcher…"

Dean rolled his eyes and felt the urge to bang his head on the table. "Oh God, please shoot me."

"Been there, done that," Sam said, running a hand through his shaggy hair.  
"That wasn't you, 'twas Meg. A girl inside you for a full week…"

Sam glowered at him and leaned forward on the table.

"Anyway… so that dreamcatcher. Why did you destroy it?"

Dean snorted and gave him a bewildered look.  
"You mean apart from the reason that I don't like you rooting around in my dreams?

Sam flushed but kept his eyes locked on Dean.  
"I mean why were you so pissed about it? I was just trying to help you, man."

„There's helping and then there's _helping_, Sam."

"Yeah, tell me about it," Sam scoffed. "I hear there's guys who think catching a bullet that wasn't meant for them falls under 'helping', too."

+#+

+#+

* * *

(A1) Betty is the wife of Bruce Banner, who is also known as "The Incredible Hulk"

(A2) A nahuales is a shapeshifting sorcerer according to page 65 in _THE __SUPERNATURAL__ BOOK of Monsters, Spirits, Demons, and Ghouls_


	15. O

Dean licked his lips and flicked his gaze away.

"Sam, man, have you ever heard of the subconscious dealing with what you live through every day in your dreams? Heard about that experiment where they didn't let cats dream for three days and they died?"

"What, you never pay any attention in school, but all of a sudden you're a biologist?"

Dean huffed and actually managed to look kinda hurt.  
"My point is, Sam, you can't take a man's dreams away like that."

"You were in no condition to deal with nightmares like that!"

"Oh yeah? And what do you think did I dream about after Dad had sold his soul to the devil? Or after that poltergeist killed what little was left of Mom? Or when I thought you'd…"  
"Killed a hunter?"

"Forget that Sam. It wasn't you!"  
"Then what, Dean-"

Dean's head swiveled around and he locked his gaze on him.

"I thought you'd die in River Grove. Oregon of all states - you can't die in the freaking beaver state, Sam!"

"But I know that already, you can't honestly think that-"

"I would have followed you."

"What?" Dean hadn't just said something as stupid as that.

+#+

"If that virus had turned you, you would have 'done the right thing,' Sam, we both know it. You would have killed yourself, just like you kill the things we hunt. Did you think I would have walked out like 'next day - new luck?'

I would have blown out my lights, OK? I can't just w-"

"Shut up!" Sam screamed, a sudden rush of anger at everything and nothing rendering more force to it than he'd intended.

Dean didn't need to say it out loud, he could hear the "Tone down your bitch fits!" from the way his brother glared.  
It wasn't like he didn't know what Dean would have done. Staying in that treatment room with him when he was infected didn't leave a lot of room for interpretation. But hearing Dean talk like that, like this was just another point on their agenda…

"What, so all of a sudden you can't handle it anymore? I thought you wanna know what I dream about so badly that-"

"I said shut up! You'll get better, we'll leave this place behind, we'll get on the road, we'll find another way to kill that demon, and none of us will die!"

Dean smiled one of those sarcastic half smiles and answered in a low voice, "Well Sam I appreciate your half-full glasses, really, I do, but how are we gonna do that? We've got bubkes in the demon department, we almost die like, what, every week and even if we did a little better in those areas, you're still some supernatural freak!"

That hurt, but Sam knew Dean wanted to shut him up; he was lashing out 'cause he was cornered. "You'll get better."

+#+

"_You'll get better."_ Sam said it like it was the answer to everything. Dean had seen the same doggedness Dad had shown when dealing with seemingly invincible enemies flaming up in his brother's eyes more often since his father had died.

Sometimes it seemed like Sam still stuck to what he'd done as a child, covering his eyes with his hands and pretending that if he didn't see the others, they wouldn't see him. Sam really needed to believe. He wanted to believe in angels, desperately latched onto the assumption that the more people he saved, the closer he came to redemption – so if he wanted to believe they'd both survive this war, Dean would let him be.

Dad had taken down a lot of things ostensibly immortal, but in the end, this battle had cost him his life. Any notion of him being larger than life had burned down with Dad on that pyre and that still scared the shit out of him. Seeing everything you believed in go up in flames like that really sobered you up.

The only constants he could see were chaos and violence and, of course, random unpredictable evil that rips you to shreds. He envied Sam his faith and his optimism 'cause all he had to hold onto was his anger and his fear and something Sam would call devotion.

+#+

"_If you go down, you go down swinging." _

_There was a time Dad had said that before every hunt they used to go on together, like some kind of sick mantra. Sam had been in Stanford at that time. The gigs he worked with Dad had grown fewer, the man trusted him to watch his own butt, but if they hunted together it was always something big. _

"_Persistency, son, that's the only thing we've got that they don't. They're faster, they're stronger, and sometimes they're smarter. But they underestimate us. You and me, we're like terriers trained to go for the Achilles tendon."_

+#+

He remembered thinking that Sam would have had some snide remark to that, something in the league of "You actually do order us around like dogs, why don't you train us and put us in the back of the car? Oh wait, you've already done that, haven't you?"

He would've followed Sam and he wouldn't take that back. That wasn't even close to what his dreams had been about, though. They were worse. The crossroads kinda worse. Still, it wouldn't do anybody any good if the kid kept brooding over this.

He'd put on a big fake smile and say something stupid to distract Sam. As always. Then he'd agree to what Sam had said. As always. He'd get better and they'd leave and when the time came he'd see about that 'happily ever after' Sam wanted so badly.

+#+

+#+


	16. P

Another two days and the physiotherapist declared him fully healed.

He was finally going to get out of this crowded, depressing, stinking mausoleum of a hospital. If there was a hell it definitely looked like a hospital!

There was a knock on the door, but Janine'd already let herself in when he turned around to bid her in. She chuckled at his annoyed look and sat down on the chair next to his bed.  
"So you and your brother are finally leaving. I guess you'll always remember me as the woman who locked you up and tossed away the key?"

He gave her a wry smile. "You'd be surprised at how many people auditioned for that role."

She chuckled and produced something from her purple scrubs. "Here, this is a gift from Christian and me."

Dean reached for the gift and curiously eyed the wrapping paper sporting clowns. Heh. If he put that on top of Sam's clothes in his duffel, it would freak him the fuck out.  
"Who's Christian?"

Janine grinned. "What, you won over a hundred bucks from him, but you're not on first name basis?"

Huh. He'd never wanted to stay long enough to be on first name basis with the staff.  
"So what is it?"

"Well why don't you open it up?"

He'd never been one for unwrapping things, he was the kind of guy who tore things open to see what's inside. Oh, that actually sounded pretty psycho.

"May I?" he said, feeling stupid to ask. Janine rolled her eyes.

"It's yours. Go ahead."

He made short work of the paper and stared at the topmost patch incredulously. He couldn't believe it. He waved the largest sticker in an exuberant gesture. "Are you serious?"

"We figured that you need something to let people know Dr. Feelgood's coming. Dr. Feelgood and his staunch ride, of course."

Dean threw his head back and laughed until he cried. He'd thought he had an obsessive relationship with his car but honest-to-god wheelchair tags?

He took out the others, two lightning tags and one saying "Thunderbird" in bright red letters. "Well, thanks, this is awesome!"

"Yeah. It was Sam's idea, though. We just went and got it done, he wouldn't leave you alone to go with us. Wise decision I guess."

Dean nodded and a warm feeling settled in his chest. Maybe there was something good about this hospital after all.

"I got nothing to give you…" he said, feeling a little awkward in the face of so much kindness.

She brushed it away with a movement of her hand and smiled at him. "I think I got enough of you for a while. If you wanna do me a favor, please don't come back too soon."

He nodded and stood up to draw her into a hug. Huh. He thought he didn't do hugs.

+#+

Around noon, Dr. Evans came around to release him officially and ask for a rematch.

"Sorry, but as soon as you sign that chart and give me your OK, I'm out that door and not looking back," he said, grinning up at Chris while he was putting on his boots. "In fact, Sam should be here any minute."

"Too bad, Marty," he replied sunnily. "But if you do come back into this part of the country by coincidence, I'd like to lose some more of my money to you."

Dean stood up to shake Chris' hand and was surprised by a pat on the back. "We're happy you made such a speedy recovery. A few more days and you'd have killed yourself."

Dean laughed and shrugged into his leather jacket. "Yeah, I guess as a patient I'm a pain in the ass."

+#+

Duffle bag in one hand and the wrapped up tags in the other, he left the room with Chris, taking one look back and enjoying the thought that this was his last day here.

He'd wait for Sam in front of the hospital. At least one foot out of the grave.

The sun felt good on his skin as he flopped down on one of the benches near the main entry. Using the duffel as a makeshift pillow, he settled against the armrest and sighed contentedly.

+#+

He perked up when he heard the Impala's horn, squinting into the afternoon sun. He leapt to his feet, suddenly wanting to get to his baby as quickly as possible.

Without a word from him, Sam rose from the driver's seat and walked around the car to lean on the hood.

"Good to see you, baby! It's been a long time!"

Sam smirked and folded his hands in his lap.  
"Yeah, I thought I'd spend the last few days in the motel to save you from my stinky feet on your bed."

Dean eyed him skeptically while running an appreciative hand over his baby's paintjob. "Who's talking to you?"

As soon as Dean was in the Impala, his cocky grin was back and he slouched down, reveling in the homey feeling of freedom that came with driving it.

It felt weird not fitting the molds his own body had left in the driver's seat; he had lost muscle mass and was lighter than he should have been, but that only meant he could eat a little more than usual.

He put his elbow out of the window, knowing just how much Sam hated it to see his brother go all show-off.

It was perfect: the engine purred, the sun shone, he had Metallica playing and, judging by the tension in Sam's back, he was already working his magic in annoying his little brother to death.

Only one thing left to do.

+#+

"Sam get a move on! We got work to do!"

"Yeah, okay. You missed bossing me around, didn't you?"

Sam was _so_ riding shotgun for the next five gigs at least!  
"Yeah, right. You're a pain in my ass, princess."

He gave Dean a satisfied grin, walked around to the passenger side and slumped into his seat with the same relief Dean was feeling.  
"At least I have a purpose."

Dean shot him one of those looks that could mean anything, but judging by the way his brother's eyes had that almost effervescent spark in them, it looked a lot like thankfulness.

"Anyway…" Dean said, staring at the wheel for a moment.

"You're welcome."

+#+

+#+

* * *

**Please take the time to leave a review if you liked "Persistency" ;)**

+#+

So far I've published "Loyalty" & "Persistency". I'm getting closer to finishing "Love" so don't forget to come back for more if you liked the first two parts.


End file.
